


You Can Have Me

by ticktockclockwork



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, F/M, Fluff, The Witcher Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28282596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticktockclockwork/pseuds/ticktockclockwork
Summary: After a royal banquet goes south, Geralt and Yennefer find comfort in each other's company.Witcher Secret Santa for Kumeko~
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37





	You Can Have Me

It’s a bad day from start to finish, and there’s still more of it to go. 

When Geralt had arrived at the gala, at the behest of his bardic acquaintance, he didn’t think he would see Yennefer there. This was a bit of a back-woods kingdom, more a duchy if he was honest, and far too low on the hierarchical scale to befit one of such standing as Yennefer of Vengerberg. But there she was, beautiful and untouchable and absolutely, never once, meeting his eyes.

He’d had few chances to approach her and when he had she quickly, and effortlessly, found somewhere else to be. The message was clear - leave her be - so, after a few failed pursuits, he did just that. Their relationship wasn’t always like this; rife with bitterness and unspoken anger. Some few and far between times she seems to miss him, finding him in a tavern at the end of the earth or crossing paths while he’s on the road. Not all of their meetings are intentional and, yes, the majority of the time she wants nothing to do with him, but occasionally, when lady luck is looking kindly down upon him, Yen looks his way and meets his eyes.

Not tonight. 

It’s clear she wasn’t expecting to see him either and the tension never truly leaves her form as she speaks with various diplomats and noblemen. He spends more time watching her than he does the room and so he misses the start of the dreadfully short-lived coup that dashes the whole evening into chaos. As far as royal overthrowings go, this one is particularly dull, but when an  _ actual _ nobleman of considerable worth (who had only been here to see Dandelion perform) takes an errant sword to the gut, all hell breaks loose. War between kingdoms is announced, more blades are drawn, and though it is short-lived, it’s messy, and - frankly - embarrassing. 

Geralt has to stop two  _ other _ noblemen from gutting Dandelion for a past slight. He takes a dagger to the shoulder from an enterprising prince who thought he was part of the guard. When he is able to survey the scene, he sees that someone has dashed a whole serving bowl of soup across Yennefer’s front and is being punished for it. If he weren’t busy dodging blows from those with just a bit too much wine in their gullets, he’d find the whole thing hilarious. But as it were, it lasts longer than it should, but shorter than to be impressive and at the end of the day, order is finally restored.

When Geralt looks around again, Yennefer is gone, no doubt to her own chambers. He doesn’t bother to wait around to see the king dish out his punishments. Dandelion has found himself a whole retinue of people to soothe his non-existent injuries, so Geralt leaves the ballroom and follows the scent he knows so well. 

Lilac and gooseberries. How could he forget.

He can hear her moving around her room through the door as he approaches, and not just because of his heightened senses. She’s livid, cursing up a storm and roughly opening and closing trunks, no doubt looking for new clothes. He can’t help the small smile on his lips at the image, how human she feels even through the door when so often she can come off as otherworldly and unimaginable. Magic does that to people and even he knows he can be intimidated by it. 

But this, a person angry and huffy and slamming about their room is so endearingly  _ human _ that he can’t stop himself from raising his hand and knocking on her door. He needs to see her, and he hopes she’ll let him. 

“If you are anyone but the staff I sent away to get me some hot water then I’ll be damned if I don’t gouge your eyes out where you stand!” She snarls from the other side of the door, not stopping in her movements around the room. 

He leans closer and tips his head. “But my eyes are so lovely, it would be such a waste to gouge them out. Do you know what I had to go through to get these?” He jests and feels a small bit of satisfaction that his voice has stopped her in her tracks. There’s silence after that, and he let’s it sit, knows she needs a moment and has no intention of rushing it.

“Perhaps I would be doing the world a favor if I did rid you of those dreadfully yellow things.” She’s moving again and anyone else might be offended but he can hear that some of the vitriol has left her voice and once again they are on familiar ground. 

She doesn’t tell him to leave and so he doesn’t and while he waits the chambermaid returns with a large pitcher filled with steaming water. She seems frazzled, probably being ordered in a million different directions now, so he tries to soften his expression as she stops in surprise a few meters from the door. “Here, allow me.” he offers, reaching out to take it from her, and though the woman hesitates (probably imagining the punishment she’ll have if the illustrious Yennefer realizes she relinquished her duty to a stranger outside her door) she seems to have even bigger haunts breathing down her neck so she hands the pitcher and bowl over then retreats down the hall. 

Geralt knows Yennefer is aware of his presence and he also knows she’s aware he hasn’t left so he waits. Just as he’s beginning to feel foolish standing outside her door holding a pitcher of cooling water, she yanks the door open and meets his eyes. She’s beautiful, and it’s the first thing he thinks, even as he glances down and sees her ruined dress. She sneers as he just raises a brow at her before reaching out and yanking the pitcher from him. “You look like an idiot standing out here.” 

But when she turns and heads deeper into her room, she leaves the door open, an invitation he doesn’t refuse. 

“I was giving you time to get presentable. Or would you rather I have barged in like a brute?”

“Well it would be fitting for one such as yourself.” 

The banter is almost a comfort at this point, familiar. He shuts and locks the door behind him, and follows her inside, making his slow way around the room while throwing glances her way. She’s at her vanity, violently scrubbing stuff from her neck and shoulders, and every so often she’ll catch his eyes in the mirror and sneer even more. “I see you made it out of that circus act unscathed.” 

Geralt turns and moves to her large bed, leaning his frame against one of the posts and crossing his arms over his chest. He’s watching her now, unrepentant, with just the hint of a smile on his lips. “Well I certainly dodged the gravy dish, if that’s what you’re implying.” Her lips thin and he feels a little victorious. “But I did take a pesky dagger to the arm.” He turns his shoulder to show her the shallow on his upper shoulder, only pouting a little. 

“Oh, my heart aches for you. How ever will you survive.” And it’s so dry he can’t help but bark out a laugh, pushing himself upright and finally,  _ finally _ , approaching. 

“May I?” He asks, holding out his hand for the cloth she is using to clean up. When she hesitates, he drops his voice and steps a touch closer. “Please Yen, let me help.” 

She watches him from the mirror and he wonders if this will be another impasse they can’t cross, a road diverging instead of coming together. But after a moment she looks away and he takes the cloth gently from her hand.

He stands at her back and reaches up to push her hair off her shoulders. It’s a mess too but he can’t do much for it right now. Instead he moves it all to one side to expose the gentle expanse of her shoulders and back. He reaches around her to dip the cloth in the water and feels her draw in a breath and hold it. He squeezes the excess water out then leans back, bringing he rag up to wipe down the side of her neck. She shivers as the warm water turns to cool drops that run down her exposed skin and he chases them with the rag, cleaning off any of the mess still on her. 

When he brings the cloth around to the nape of her neck, she closes her eyes and tips her head down. He draws the cloth down between the top of her shoulder blades, stopping when he meets the ties on her corset. She shudders when he hesitates there too, but then he continues to the other shoulder, not pushing, just taking care of his task at hand. 

It takes time, longer because he wants it to, and each time he reaches around her to re-wet the cloth, she leans a little further into him. When he can feel the heat of her through his clothes, he brings his free hand up and sets it on her belly, feeling the shaky breath she drags in. “Yen.” He whispers and she shakes her head once, sharp, but clear, and he falls quiet again. 

By the time the water is too cold to use, he’s cleaned all the exposed skin more times than it needs. Yennefer is leaning back against his chest, and he takes his chance to lean down and press his lips to the crook of her neck. Her violet eyes blink open and he meets them in the mirror, hand flexing where it still rests on her stomach.

He waits - he’s always waiting - but it isn’t in vain. There’s conflict in her eyes, like she doesn’t know if this is a good idea, and he’s not sure if it is either but he wants her too much to care. With his hand still on her stomach, he sets the rag down then steps back just enough to make room so he can reach up with his free hand and run his fingers up the lacing on her corset. She shivers and he presses his lips to her throat again as he pulls on the laces and feels it give. 

“Come to bed?” He whispers against her skin, and shivers himself when her hand comes up and back to slide into his hair, tangling her fingers and tugging. 

She meets his eyes again. “What if I wanted you here? On your knees before me.” 

“Then you could have me. Here. On my knees, before you.” He breathes, pulling on the lacing until he can loosen the corset enough to get his fingers under it.

Her eyes flutter just a bit. “And if I only wanted you between my legs, wishing for more but never getting it?” 

“Then you can have me. Between your legs, wishing for more. And never getting it.” His fingers run over the marks and divots left by the corset and he revels in the feeling of her breath tumbling apart under the hand on her belly. 

She turns her head just a fraction to bring herself closer to his mouth. “And what if I told you to leave when I was done with you? Leave and never return.” 

“Then you could have me. And I would leave.” He leans up to breath over her lips. “But I cannot promise to never return.” 

He waits. 

And she breathes. 

Then she turns and catches his lips and he’s home. 

They tumble to the bed, Geralt working at all her laces and straps but finds himself first to be bare under her. She’s just in her underclothes now, curves just a whisper of temptation under the thin linen of her slip and her top. He slides his hands up her thighs and she runs her hands up his chest and there’s one last moment of hesitation before she sinks down to, finally, meet his kiss.

  
  
  
  


She doesn’t tell him to leave.

And while he spends a good amount of time paying penance between her legs, it isn’t all she gives nor all she gets. 

When they come to rest it’s dark out and the castle around them is quiet. Geralt has his head on her chest and she’s running her fingers through his hair. “You don’t truly wish to gouge my eyes out do you?” He asks, looking up at her as the arm around her waist strokes up and down her hip.

“Well they are a dreadfully ugly color.” She murmurs in reply but draws her fingers down to touch gently at his brow and down around his temple. When he blinks she feels her feathlight touch on his eye lashes and he can’t help but smile. 

“Shall I call a bath?” He asks, lifting his head and pushing himself up to meet her lips again.

“Hm.” She breathes, hands running up his back again. “Not yet. I want you a little bit longer.” 

He grins and breathes against her lips. “Then you can have me. As long as you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr [@ticktockclockwork](https://ticktockclockwork.tumblr.com)


End file.
